Wednesday, January 28, 2009
What I found most odd was Christina’s use of the word “cozy” (although it’s spelled with an “s” in the blog … British? Spanish? Jeez that post is old…). She’s quoted: “When it comes to things like our cosy naked Sundays I think it’s important for Jordan and I not to lose ourselves … We have to be the cosiest couple around…” Hm. Am I a puritan or does “cozy” not make you think of old college hoodies and giant pajama pants, pretty much the opposite of bare ass on, say, a leather couch? Then I thought maybe naked Sundays, especially if adapted during a frigid Chicago winter, could include blankets. But that might get annoying … enter the Snuggie! A naked Sunday example would certainly spice up the infamous infomercial. But I’m afraid Snuggies would probably defeat the purpose of naked Sundays. I certainly don’t think the artist formerly known as Xtina would approve.
And another quote that caught my eye: “We don’t need to go anywhere, we’re just with each other. We do everything naked. We cook naked…” Cooking naked? Sounds potentially painful. While celebs probably don’t fry everything they eat in olive oil, and therefore suffer from popping grease attacks, I do … and bacon, which has the same effect on my stovetop, is definitely a non-negotiable Sunday breakfast component. Again, the Snuggie comes to mind as a possible solution (maybe it can be useful!), but I need to accept the fact that it’s not an acceptable option for the endeavor in question, and that I am officially lame.
With no feasible solution found and no real excuse other than lameness to use, for a second, I feared there was no pleasant way out. But then I saw a light in the most unlikely of places: I simply asked, “But aren’t Sundays for watching football with your boys?” Crisis averted.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Tonight on The Bachelor, Lauren, Megan and Shannon got canned during the rose ceremony. To add insult to injury, Jason didn't even give out The Final Rose... he disliked all of these ladies so much that he eliminated all three by choice! I didn't give the episode my full attention until the end -- multi-tasking included working out, finishing my book, checking my e-mail and talking on the phone with and texting my sister (yay to my fam for finally embracing my TMing obsession!) -- two hours sure is a long time... So the only explanation I've come up with for Jason disregarding the rules of the "journey" and voluntarily giving up a potential make-out partner a week early is that he just plain hates those ruffly dresses all three ladies wore to the ceremony. Actually, now that I think about it, Jason looked totally normal (well, relatively) -- on a role calling names -- until he got to the last three bachelorettes, took in their matching outfits, and confessed that he just couldn't go on.
Yes, Lauren seemed to be flirting with herself, and Shannon's attempt to kiss Jason with her over-glossed lips and boogery Kleenex was disastrous, but I'm not sure what Megan did wrong, so it must have been the collective ruffles. Women should probably add this trend to the list of dude-repellent outerwear that includes capri pants, North Face puffy coats, ballet flats, cardigans and long skirts -- sometimes handy, but probably not when you're on a reality dating show.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Despite waking up relatively early this morning, I was still a few minutes late to work, partly because I couldn’t find anything not hideously unflattering to wear, and partly because I couldn’t tear myself away from the Today Show’s ridiculous coverage of the Obamas. They’re late to church! Michelle’s wearing lemon meringue! I love hard news in the morning.
But when I finally settled into my cube, I read a heartening e-mail from one of my manger-level co-workers. He had sent a link to the Facebook/CNN.com live stream of the day’s events to our whole team. Because we’re “Internet marketers,” it was practically my duty to check it out... (I know I complain a lot, but sometimes I heart my job, especially my team.)
I guess the point of the partnership was for users to sign into their Facebook accounts on CNN.com to interact with friends (through Facebook status updates) who were watching as well. And if you weren’t on Facebook, of course there was a link encouraging you to sign up. I didn’t feel like signing into my account, though, so I just read the feed of comments from random people, which were posted to the right of the video. And boy were they fascinating... someone was jealous of her mom because she was in D.C... someone else was proud to be an American, especially today... someone else was ready for 44... but sadly these insights were cut off for me by perhaps my Internet connection or some other glitch. The video was also rather spotty, although the audio was fab.
I’m guessing I didn’t miss much by not signing into my Facebook account. This Heartless Doll blogger, who I randomly found to be hilarious and also share my affinity for Hello Kitty pajama pants (!), wrote while watching with 526 of her closest friends: “All ‘Roslynne’ can manage is ‘WOW!!!!!’ and ‘Kressel’ is ‘definatly watching history,’ lest there be any question in your mind. And ‘Steve’ is watching the Golden Girls. Thanks for keeping it real, Steve.”
Instead I opened a new window to sign into Gmail, and promptly began three Gchat conversations about a myriad of provocative topics such as: how creepy the new Bachelor is; Saturday deals on shots and cheese curds; and... the historic Inauguration of Barack Obama. All while answering Outlook (work) e-mails. Of course this was during the introductory stuff—I paid attention to the swearing in and Obama’s speech. (I did!)
What an amazing thing to watch, and in such a fitting way... Because I’m in the Internet marketing game, I’ve read and spewed a lot of babble about how the Obama campaign was the first to embrace and successfully leverage social networks to spread his message and make people feel like they have a voice. While today most of those voices were overpunctuated and misspelled, it gave me great joy to see these grammatically incorrect sentiments roll off of a Facebook feed, rather than the tongue of our Commander in Chief.
Interesting that when we felt we had a voice, when we had record turnout, we didn’t vote for someone who reminds us of ourselves, charmed by their folksy talk or good ‘ole boy sense of humor: We voted for someone we can look up to, someone who inspires us to be something better. And isn't that the definition of a leader?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
I like to watch the Sex and the City series (and now movie!) in chronological order, over and over, and I’m currently on the first season again... originally with the intent to watch with my boyfriend because he hasn’t seen it (shocking!), although last night he slept through episodes 10 and 11 (but somehow magically awakened, just for a minute, in time to see ex-city girl Laney flash Samantha’s party). Oh, how I wish I could sleep through Family Guy, but I think the sound of Lois’ voice would make that impossible...
Anyway, I think it was during the very first episode, when the girls are discussing women having sex like men, i.e. “feeling nothing,” and the BF wasn’t exactly official yet so he was still paying attention, when he said something along the lines of, “Oh boy, this show is a bad influence on you.” At the time, I laughed it off, saying if that were the case, I’d obviously be way past the point of no return—10 years deep into SATC fanaticism. But as we’re getting further into Carrie and Big’s Season One dysfunction, I’ve been thinking more and more about that comment.
This time through the early episodes, Carrie’s crazy behavior is making me cringe even more—and I think it’s because I see myself in her (not her career, or her clothes, or her social life, of course—just in her ridiculousness). Episode 11, “The Drought,” hit way too close to home.
After she accidentally lets one rip in bed with her new boyfriend, Carrie proceeds to OBSESS to all of her friends—convinced that the fart is to blame for her tapering sex life. Three friends. The same conversation. Four times. I too enjoy having the same conversation multiple times—as long as it’s all about me. Sometimes when I’m rambling on and on, saying the same things over and over, telling a never-ending story in excruciating detail, I actually feel my sanity float out of my body before it looks down in disgust and screams, “SHUT UP! No one cares! You’re lucky these people even want to hang out with you!” Yes, that’s right, I’m aware. But I can’t stop. Because. I’m. Crazy.
Toward the end of her obsessing, Carrie decides to take matters into her own hands and visit Big. Unfortunately, he isn’t expecting her and is more interested in watching some pay-per-view fight (also, he’s just kind of an ass), so she ends up making a complete fool of herself and then storming out—(mistakenly) expecting him to follow. While I usually don’t leave in a big huff, I do like to make a dramatic exit when I’m feeling ignored—by sneaking away. Once I wandered off into the North Woods while I was staying at my high school boyfriend’s family cabin. Nothing says love like a search party, apparently. Carrie’s response to Big’s eventual, “What was that all about?” was, “That was me, having a meltdown.” That’s a good one—vodka is another useful scapegoat.
After trying unsuccessfully to confront the problem, in her own special way, Carrie obsesses some more and then assumes the relationship is over, a defense mechanism with which I’m very familiar. I lost count of how many times I jumped the break-up gun by deleting my college boyfriend’s number, sans discussion. We dated for three years.
Eek. That’s some pretty disturbing herstory. But maybe it’s not all my fault—maybe I’m just the victim of a dangerous role model... I wonder: Did my inherent insanity attract me to Carrie, or did all these years of hanging on every cosmo turn me into the near nutjob I am today?